Five Times Kurt Proves He Really Is A Boy
by Venice.Luna.Blanche
Summary: Behind all of that flaming homosexuality lies a real man. Kurt proves it... in his own way. Klaine.


A/N: Hey all! This is my first Glee fic, but I'm so completely in love with Klaine that I can't help but do _something. _So this is the first of many that I have in my head or already on paper. Let me know what you think and if I should keep posting.

Summary: People seem to think that just because Kurt Hummel is gay, he's not a _boy_. He's about to prove them wrong with unparalleled Kurt Macho-ness.

**Warnings:**Klaine (Slash). Don't like it, don't read it. Moderate language. Underage drinking.

Reviews aren't like crack… they're just like really good coffee; I don't require it to function., but I am a lot happier when I have it.

Enjoy!

Luna.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, plotlines, and fantastic musical numbers belong to Fox Studios. No profit is being made in the online publication of this story.

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><p>Finn let out a frustrated groan and flopped back against the bed beneath him, letting the dark covers engulf his back as he sank lower into the mattress. This was ridiculous. He'd just spent the last <em>two<em> hours of his Saturday night listening to Quinn bitch about how he and Rachel spent too much time together and sang too many songs together and generally just used too much time that Finn was _supposed_ to be using with his girlfriend.

"Stupid girls," he muttered to himself, staring up at the brown spot on the ceiling where he and Puck had tried to make rockets out of Coke and Mentos last week. Needless to say, they'd spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning _that_ up. "Stupid girls. Stupid relationships. Stupid me. Stupid stupid stupid." He growled quietly and continued glaring at the stained ceiling.

"You okay?"

Finn shot up at the sound of the voice, looking around until his eyes found his stepbrother leaning casually against his doorframe, pale arms crossed over an unusually plain t- shirt and holding two bottles in his hands.

"What?... yeah. Yeah I'm fine." Finn looked confusedly at Kurt's hands, cocking his head to the side.

"Finn, you just spent the last few hours placating your girlfriend. I could hear her screech over the phone from _my_ room. That's not the sound of a particularly healthy relationship."

Finn frowned, hating to agree with the statement. Kurt moved into the room and held out his hand. On instinct, Finn reached out to his stepbrother and let out a mild gasp when his hand came into contact with something very cold.

"What's this?" He looked down. Of all the things, Kurt had just handed him a _beer_. It was stranger than when the boy dressed up in platform heels and an old fashioned wig to pay homage to all things Gaga. Finn couldn't wrap his head around it; Kurt and beer didn't belong in the same sentence.

"Liquid courage. Well," Kurt frowned thoughtfully, "courage is sort of obsolete at this point, so really it's just a sorrow- drowning device."

"It's… beer." Finn felt very slow.

"Yeah? And?"

"Why do you have _beer?_ Why are we drinking?"

Kurt chuckled a little and absently ran a hand through his hair. Finn wanted to frown again. Kurt _never_ had hair that was anything but perfect.

"Carole and Dad are sleeping, and you need a pick- me- up." Kurt handed him a bottle opener and wasted no time in bringing his already opened beverage to his lips. Finn couldn't look past the conundrum of Kurt- girly, diva, fashionsita Kurt- drinking beer.

"Where did you get this?"

"Where do you think?"

Finn shrugged, popped his own bottled and took a swig. He was never a heavy drinker, but he had his fair share of beer after football with Puck and he wasn't fazed by the alcoholic beverage. What did freak him out was that his fancy- pants stepbrother was sitting on his bed drinking the same thing with the well practiced demeanor of someone who did this often. Too often…

Kurt caught his brother's frown.

"What?"

"Since when do you drink beer?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You'd think I was killing puppies or something. It's a _beer_, Finn. It's not like I'm snorting cocaine."

"Am _I_? This is weird. What happened to warm milk?"

"This seems to work better."

"You just… you never seemed like a _beer_ kind of guy."

Kurt laughed. Finn noted absently that, while his own bottle was half full, his brother's was empty. "The gay tends to make people lean more toward a glass of chardonnay or an appletini. But have you ever actually _had_ an appletini? They're awful."

"When did you drink an appletini?"

Kurt paused, and a faint blush stained his pale cheeks.

"Ah…" he muttered, looking away slightly, "just some Dalton boys having a good time is all. Nothing worth mentioning." Kurt stood up and made his way out of the room, bottle in hand. Before leaving, he turned back. "I hope things work out with Quinn. Girls seem… complicated."

"No kidding." Finn toasted him, but something in the back of his mind noted that the bottle he was drinking out of was green.

"Kurt…" he said, still looking at the bottle in his hand, "Burt doesn't drink Heineken."

His stepbrother just laughed airily and continued out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Fuck you!"<p>

"Whoa, no need to be so upset, angsty boy. You know I'm right."

Wes glared with all his might at David's smirking face.

"You've never been more wrong. About anything. Ever. Even when you though Thad was hitting on the creepy librarian with the mole on her lip."

David frowned. "That was gross."

"Exactly."

"I am right, though. You argument is illogical. I win by default."

"How is my argument illogical? I've covered all aspects: comical nature, character development, social commentary, global relevance…"

"It's a cartoon, Wesley. It's stupid."

"_You're _stupid."

"Are you, like, seven years old?"

Wes stuck out his tongue and folded his arms, glaring out the passenger side window. David smirked from the back seat.

"Tell me I'm right, Blaine. Wes is being ridiculous."

Blaine gave a small smirk and patted Wes on the knee without taking his eyes off the road. Wes grunted.

"You are both completely ridiculous. Arguing over the best TV show in the entire universe by discussing its social relevance and character development just goes to show how completely insane you both are, especially since you're arguing between _Family Guy_ and _America's Next Top Model_."

"Family Guy is stupid."

"At least I'm not secretly a woman in a man's body."

Wes and David went back to their mindless bickering even as they pulled into the parking lot of Kurt's Dad's garage and parked the car.

David turned to Blaine, his face demanding. "Fine, television extraordinaire, what _is_ the best show?" Wes perked up. Blaine had to bite back a laugh.

"The Office, hands down."

"It's so _boring_," David said, pouting a little.

"It's like watching real life."

"Why don't you just… watch real life?"

"It freaks people out."

Blaine held the door open and Wes and David filter through, still passing along the occasional insult. The front room of Burt Hummel's garage was empty, but it should not have been. Kurt, who was spending the morning with his father at work, promised to meet them in the lobby a little before noon so that they could eat lunch and see a movie before heading back to school.

But the boy was nowhere to be found. Blaine was a moment away from pulling out his phone and sending a text when Wes perked up and looked to his left.

"Do you hear that?" He asked, looking through the glass doors into the garage itself.

"No…"

"It's definitely Kurt…" Wes trailed off listlessly and moved toward the doors. Blaine reached out to stop him, but gave up when he too heard his boyfriend's familiar voice floating toward him.

Walking behind David and Wes, he walked into the garage, determined to find Kurt.

Turns out it wasn't that hard.

The space was filled with more than a few cars, each with popped hoods or propped up on stilts to change the tires. More toward the back stood a large, smiling man who looked to be perhaps fifty or so, who was shifting his weight and talking next to a bright red 1969 Ford Mustang. Blaine couldn't help but salivate a little at the sight of such a gorgeous car.

Of course, he might have been salivating a little more at his boyfriend and a little less at the car.

David and Wes actually stopped moving, their mouths falling open ever so slightly.

Kurt was hunched over the popped hood of the mustang, dressed in a pair of coveralls that were pulled off to hang loose at the waist and reveal the dirty white _entirely too snug _ t- shirt underneath.

Kurt had yet to notice them, given that his hands were occupied with fiddling with the inside of the car and his mind by the man who was speaking to him. He put both hands on the edge of the car and peered down at the parts inside, frowning slightly.

"Definitely the master cylinder."

"Shit," the jolly man swore, though the power of the word was lost on his kind face. "How much is that going to cost me?"

"You just have to know where to go," Kurt replied, pulling himself away from the car, wiping his hand on his shirt in a very_ not _characteristically Kurt- like way and walking with the jolly man. "There's a dealer in Pennsylvania that makes parts specifically for… oh, hey guys!"

Kurt smiled brightly, if a little distractedly. He continued walking toward them, and seemed unfazed by the expressions of shock on his friend's faces.

"Give me just a second." Kurt gave Blaine a chaste kiss on the lips, patted Wes and David's shoulders, and moved away again, continuing his conversation with the other man about master cylinders and car dealers.

No one said anything until he got back.

"Hello…?"

Blaine looked up. His boyfriend had returned, still in his coveralls and dirty shirt, and was waving a hand in front of his face. Wes moved forward, a thoughtful expression on his face, and pinched Kurt on the arm. Kurt yelped.

"Ouch! You vicious bitch."

"Who are you and what have you done with Kurt Hummel?" David demanded to him.

"What?"

"I think they're referring to your uncharacteristic display of male behavior," Blaine said, wrapping his arms around Kurt's waist and pulling him close. Kurt snaked an arm around his shoulders in a familiar way.

"Should I be offended?" Blaine shrugged.

"I don't spend all of my time shopping and singing, you know," Kurt said, laughing at Wes and David. He shook his head. "You and Finn…."

"So… why didn't you help me when my car broke down two weeks ago and Wes and I had to push it four miles? In the pouring rain. At night."

"It was afternoon and sunny, and not even a wizard could save that piece of shit car, David, and you know it."

Blaine smirked, loving his boyfriend's sharp tongue. David pouted.

"Kurt…" Wes seemed apprehensive, as though seeing Kurt in a new light.

"Hmm?"

"What's your favorite TV show?"

"Project Runway. Duh."

Wes breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank god," he said. "At least _one_ thing hasn't changed."

* * *

><p>Santana smiled to herself a little. She couldn't help it. Brittney was absolutely adorable when she pouted and her lower lip- <em>Stop! Stop it Santana! No!<em> She shook her head clear of those thoughts but couldn't keep the smile off her face as she and Brit moved through the hallways to get to chemistry class. Well... _Santana_ was going to chemistry. Brittney was just dropping her off on her way to do whatever it is she does during the school day.

Brittney popped her gum, and Santana wanted to shudder.

She was losing it; she couldn't go one second without thinking about her... friend. It was maddening.

Santana frowned, wanting nothing more than to be free of this frustrating obsession.

Still, no time for that now; she and Brittney had stepped into the chemistry lab, hugged, and made to go their separate ways.

"Bye Brit," Santana called, hoping she wasn't too breathless.

"Bye kitten," the blond replied with a serene smile, and then she listlessly floated out of the room.

Santana shook her head clear and moved to sit in her usual seat, already prepared to tune her teacher out and let Kurt handle the class, as was the usual with the two of them. It seemed to suit Kurt just fine.

"Morning, Santana," the boy in question called as he sat down next to her, smiling. He was, as usual, dressed to the nines in the latest fashion trends.

Santana only mumbled back, her thoughts still with Brittney.

Kurt huffed in good- natured way, fully used to the girl's behavior.

"Well, somebody woke up on the wrong side of hell this morning."

"Fuck off, Kurt."

"Whatever you say, Satan." He was still smiling. "I don't need your help. But I will tell you that you're so clearly Brittney- ized right now that I can practically smell it."

Santana sighed. "I know. It sucks!"

Kurt spared her a sympathetic glance and made to open his mouth, but was interrupted when the teacher began to explain that day's lesson. Santana tuned it all out.

Several minutes later, Kurt returned to their conversation as though they hadn't been interrupted, all the while adding random things to a beaker in front of him.

"I feel for you, Santana. I do. But it's not unrequited. Remember that."

"What the hell do you know?" She hadn't meant to sound so bitchy.

Kurt looked up, a graduated cylinder full of _something_ clutched in his hand, and raised a fine brow.

"I'm you're flaming homosexual, hopelessly romantic friend. I _know_ love when I see it."

He turned back to whatever he was doing, leaving the Latina princess speechless.

Of course, that lasted exactly two seconds before Kurt turned back to her and said calmly, "Cover your ears."

"Wha-?"

The beaker was fizzing loudly. Kurt pointedly closed his hands around his ears. Santana did the same just in time; a split second later, the substance in the beaker exploded upwards in a flash of light and heat, cracking the beaker and producing a thick cloud of smoke.

The class was yelling. The teacher was yelling. Kurt was... smirking. Santana raised a brow questioningly.

"That was fabulous!" Kurt smiled hugely and clapped his hands as though applauding a truly spectacular theater performance.

Santana turned to him fully. "You're ridiculous."

"Why?" The boy asked indignantly.

"Only you could possibly think _explosions_ are fabulous. Clothes and accessories, yes. Things exploding? Not so much."

"What's wrong with explosions? They're... fabulous."

"Kurt, you're the worst queer ever."

"Says the dyke in self denial."

"You're such a bitch."

"At least I have an appreciation for the truly important things in life."

"Like explosions?"

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>"YES!" Puck yelled, jumping up from the couch, throwing his controller down in triumph and punching a fist in the air. Finn and Mike looked defeated. Artie didn't seem to care that much. Sam looked particularly despondent.<p>

"Third time in a row, bitches!" Puck was now dancing around the basement, gloating thoroughly about his third win.

"How do you _do_ that?" Finn asked, frowning at his own controller as though it would suddenly spring to life and give him the secrets to kick Puck's ass at zombie killing.

"Talent."

Mike scoffed.

"Hey guys!" A cheery voice called, and Kurt's expensive shoes appeared at the top of the stairs. The rest of him came, too, a second later, looking as... fashionably ridiculous as usual.

Finn grunted, Artie called hello, and Sam sighed. Puck continued to dance. Mike was glaring daggers at him.

Kurt smirked. "Puck win again?"

"It's not even _fair_. He shouldn't get to play."

Puck flipped Mike off and kept on dancing.

Kurt seemed to contemplate something for a moment. A grin spread across his face as he marched up to his stepbrother and silently held out a well- manicured hand.

Finn frowned.

"Kurt, I don't think-"

"I'll empty the dishwasher for a week."

"Done." Finn held up the controller without another word.

Kurt smiled even wider and plopped down next to his brother.

Twenty minutes later, Kurt's smile looked ready to split his face in two and Puck was nearly reduced to tears.

"How...?"

Finn smirked. "That's right, Puck. Suck on _that_!"

"But... how?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and stood up.

"You people are not even real! I'm a boy, you know. Just because I'm a queen doesn't mean I'm a _girl_."

He gracefully stepped past the speechless boys and over toward the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, shaking himself out his stupor.

"To make cookies, obviously."

And with that, Kurt strutted up the stairs and out of sight.

* * *

><p>The night was clear, and warm. Just the way Blaine liked it. Although, part of that was because of the gorgeous boy huddled up next to him, laying his tawny head on Blaine's chest.<p>

"This has been the weirdest week," Kurt said suddenly, breaking the silence that had persisted for the last half and hour.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone seems so surprised that I'm a _boy._"

"Um... What?" Blaine raised a eyebrow, though he knew Kurt couldn't see it.

"You know... a boy. Like, a boy who does boy things and not girly things."

"Are you drunk?"

Kurt hit his chest and turned over so that he was now straddling Blaine's chest with his hips. Despite the conversation, Blaine couldn't help but be _very_ aware of the friction Kurt was creating between them.

"First Finn, and then you guys, and Santana and the boys from glee club. It's like nobody knew I was a boy."

"_I_ know you're a boy. Thank god for that."

Kurt smirked. "Yes, thank god I'm a boy." He put his hands on Blaine's chest and let them wander, ever so slowly moving lower. Blaine shuddered.

"I'll show you just how good of a _boy_ I can be." Still smiling, Kurt cupped Blaine through his jeans. Blaine groaned and leaned up to kiss him hard. Kurt kissed back, now fighting for dominance, still holding Blaine while his other hand worked on the buttons of the dark haired boy's pants.

In that moment, Blaine could not be more glad that Kurt was so wonderfully, painfully obviously a boy.

* * *

><p>AN: Hope you enjoyed it! I just couldn't stand that everybody underestimates Kurt's macho- ness. Plus it gave me a chance to write some pre- smut. Which is always fun.


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